


Cock Rings Don't Count As Chick-Flick Moments

by cr0wgrrl



Series: Outtakes & Extras for ZoyciteM's "Sammy's Time at Stanford" [6]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abused Sam Winchester, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Castiel and Jimmy Novak Are Twins, Cock Cages, Coming In Pants, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dirty Talk, Dom Castiel, Dom/sub, Frottage, Hurt Sam Winchester, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, M/M, Past Child Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Sexual Abuse, Protective Dean Winchester, Rape Recovery, Sam Winchester at Stanford, Shy Sam Winchester, Stanford Era, Sub Dean Winchester, Sub Sam Winchester, Switch Jimmy Novak, Switch Sam Winchester, Twincest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-26
Updated: 2016-06-26
Packaged: 2018-07-18 07:57:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7306420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cr0wgrrl/pseuds/cr0wgrrl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean deals with having almost lost Sam. Sam deals with almost having lost everything.</p>
<p>[Read this after Chapter 31 of <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/5661583">Sammy's Time at Stanford</a>.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cock Rings Don't Count As Chick-Flick Moments

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ZoyciteM](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZoyciteM/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Sammy's Time at Stanford](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5661583) by [ZoyciteM](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZoyciteM/pseuds/ZoyciteM). 



> This falls a little before the treadmill incident in Chapter 31, and contains spoilers for ZoyciteM's epic story from Chapter 15 on. But you should have read that already, because seriously, epically awesome BDSM.

_The kid hasn't even had the time to move in._ It's the only thing Dean can think about as he pads, barefoot, into Sam's room.

Sam's clothes are in the closet, sure. His laptop's on the desk and his bed's been slept in, and his medication is littered across the nightstand. But that's not the same thing as being _moved in_.

There should be posters on the wall, pictures on the nightstand, shelves full of books, scuff marks where he's propped up his feet on his desk while studying, trash in the garbage can, dirty clothes on the floor. Okay, there's not much chance of the last two ever happening in this house, but the point stands, Dean thinks.

But there's been no time for that, not that Sam's been in shape to even think about it since he returned, weak and wan and more emotionally devastated than Dean had seen since Dad brought him back from Flagstaff. And right now, with Sam downstairs on the treadmill, the room just feels empty. _Unlived in_.

If they hadn't gotten there in time…

If Sammy had…

If Sammy was…

If John had…

If the worst had happened, it would have almost been like Sam _was never here at all_.

Which is unthinkable.

The bed smells faintly of Sammy. He curls up on it, head on his pillow, breathing him in. Sleep has been hard to find for him and Castiel, even with Jimmy taking such good care of them, making sure they eat and shower and not hover over Sam 24-7. Not that Jimmy hasn't done his own share of hovering, especially that first day in the hospital when they didn't know whether–

_Sam's not dead_ , Dean thinks for the millionth time, just as wild with relief as he was the first time.

He's not dead, he's just downstairs, getting stronger every day. _Dad's_ dead. Sam's alive, and Dad – _John_ – is dead, and he'll never hurt anyone again.

This isn't his room, but he's tired, and he misses Sam. He'll just sit here a few moments longer, and then go back to his room. Yeah.

~ * ~

It feels like minutes later when a hand wakes him with a caress to his cheek. Dean sleepily opens his eyes to find an hour has passed. He smiles up at the hand's owner and scooches over, patting the bed drowsily. A moment later, there's a warm body snuggling in next to him, 6'4" inches of little brother somehow still managing to make himself small enough to tuck his head under Dean's chin. Sam's hair is damp and his skin is sweet from the shower, making his shirt and shorts stick to him awkwardly as he slides in. Dean presses a kiss to his forehead and wraps his arms around him, pulling them both back down into slumber.

~*~

The next time Dean wakes up, someone's pulled a blanket over the two of them. He's on his back, one arm curled around his brother's shoulders, the other resting on the pillow above his head. Sam's sprawled across him on his belly, the way he used to when he was much smaller – cheek pressed to Dean's shoulder, left arm curled up across Sam's own belly, right arm and leg flung possessively across Dean like a snuggly octopus. Despite the flexible cast keeping his right arm straight (a vast improvement over the clunky plaster cast he'd worn for weeks), Sam's managed to hook two fingers on his right hand securely in the pocket of Dean's jeans, locking Dean in place.

It would be adorable, except –

"Dude," Dean says groggily. "You're drooling all over my armpit – gross."

Sam blinks the sleep from his eyes and honest-to-god smirks, then turns his head and _licks_ Dean's armpit through his t-shirt.

Dean laughs and squirms away, then swings his arms down to tickle Sam, knocking the pillow off the bed as they wrestle, and for a moment everything is simple and happy. But his fingers inevitably pass over one of Sam's new scars, and Sam's smile dims.

Dean tightens his arm, sweeping Sam toward him before he can even think of pulling away. "Nope. There's not a thing wrong about you, remember?" Careful not to aggravate Sam's remaining injuries, he flips him onto his stomach and pushes up his shirt, dropping kisses along Sam's surgical scar.

After a moment, Sam bucks Dean off, but he's smiling again. The rest of the bedding falls to the ground as he turns and wraps his forearms around Dean to pull him in for a kiss. Or three. Or ten.

Sam disengages with a "Sorry, one minute, I gotta-" and a nod vaguely towards the bathroom. Dean relaxes back onto the bed, then with a sigh rolls over to the edge and fishes the blankets back up.

Something metallic rolls out of the sheets and falls back down to the floor with a clatter – Sam's cage. Dean realizes he's rarely seen Sam without it before the hospital. The last time he'd worn it was right _before_. If Cas hadn't left it off – Dean shudders to think about how much more damage John could have inflicted if…

_No_. He's done thinking about John. _He is_.

Dean lifts the cock cage up, cradling it in his hand so the metal rings clink together. He doesn't get it, not really. He loves the way it looks on Sam, but personally, he can think of about a hundred reasons why it's more fun when Little Dean is free to play instead of locked away. Sam sure gets off on it, though, and clearly misses wearing it, considering he's got the cage stashed under his pillow. It's a puzzle.

Dean's still holding it when Sam comes back in. His brother's face flushes bright red when he sees Dean whirling it around his finger by the largest ring. "I've heard of leaving teeth for the tooth fairy to get cash, Sammy, but I'm not sure what kinda reward you're hoping for by leaving this thing under your pillow."

Sam moves to grab it out of Dean's hand. "I'm not – I just–"

In the days since they brought Sam back from the hospital, the cocksure, dirty-mouthed toppy Sam who took Dean to his knees in the shower often vanishes, replaced by a shyer, awkward Sam who thrives on just being touched and held and reassured. Not always; that other Sam resurfaces from time to time, and with increasing frequency as Sam's body heals. Dean knows Sam's confidence isn't gone for good; he just needs time to heal and find his footing again. In the meantime, he – and Cas, and Jimmy – will love every moment of whichever version of Sam they get.

Which doesn't mean he's not above taking advantage of Sam's momentary shyness to pull his blushing brother back onto the bed. Dean maneuvers them so he is leaning against the headboard with Sam between his legs, leaning against Dean's chest. Then he takes up Sam's right hand in his, intertwining their fingers so they are both holding the cage.

"What is it about this thing that does it for you, anyway?" With his left hand, Dean brushes Sam's hair back from his neck so he can kiss Sam's collar and then the exposed skin right above it. "Isn't it more fun to just be able to, y'know, _come_?"

Sam shivers against his brother's lips and presses himself back against Dean with a soft sigh.

Dean exhales, trembling from the exertion of not pulling Sam any closer to him and possibly making him freeze up. Since they came back to the house, Sam hasn't been ready to try anything close to penetration with any of his lovers. This is a big step, even with a pair of shorts and jeans between them.

He opts for nibbling Sam's ear instead, and resting his left hand across Sam's ribs.

"I used to wonder, y'know, how I could like any of the stuff I like, after Dad. It kinda fucked me up for a while." Sam lifts his left hand up and places it over Dean's, stroking his fingers idly. "Then I figured out it wasn't me who was fucked up, it was Dad. You're supposed to be able to trust the ones you love not to hurt you."

Sam lets his hand fall down to Dean's thigh, running his fingertips up the outside seam. "When Cas puts that cage on me, it's him asking me to do something hard for him, to please him. And me wearing it, it's me putting something incredibly personal to me in someone else's hands."

Dean's doing his damnedest to stay focused and listen to Sam, but it's not exactly easy with those long fingers stroking erotically up and down his leg.

"The thing is, Cas might ask something hard of me – like when I fucked up and didn't get to come for a week – but it's always going to be fair, something he knows I can do, and when it's over, I get love and rewards for being able to do it." Sam's fingers still, and his voice lowers. "And if I ever can't handle it, I just have to tell him, and he'll understand and stop immediately. And _he_ won't blame me for failing – we might have to negotiate something else, but he'll love me regardless."

Dean smiles, gently caressing Sam's stomach to draw him back from his darkening thoughts. "So far, I'm hearing a whole lotta why you're okay with him putting that thing on you, but you're still kind of dancing around my actual question." He lets his fingers slide infinitesimally south, just below the elastic of Sam's shorts. "How come _not_ getting your rocks off gets your rocks off?"

Sam's voice is lower again when it speaks, but now it's teasing, dark with promise instead of memories. "What do you want me to tell you, Dean? Do you want me to tell you how it feels as each ring slides over my cock when he puts it on? Knowing that as soon as Cas turns the lock, every time my dick tries to get hard, it's going to press up against the metal, which hurts, but feels so good at the same time that I can't help but drip all over the floor?"

He rolls his head on Dean's shoulder, exposing his neck for Dean to kiss again. "Do you want to know how it feels to go for days, getting fucked but not coming? How every touch your lovers give you is amplified until your entire body feels like one big erogenous zone? How it makes you just want to drop to your knees before your masters and please them? How it feels to come while you're soft, so hard you don't even know where you are?"

Before Dean can process it, Sam reminds him of how flexible he truly is, somehow simultaneously flipping himself over and sweeping Dean's legs together. He ends up straddling Dean, arms draped over his shoulders, the cock cage dangling down between Dean's shoulder blades.

Sam leans in close. "Or is it what it feels like when he lubes up the sound and slides it inside my cock that you're curious about, the way my urethra stretches around the metal, giving him control over even that hole? How wearing a sound for days in a row makes me so sensitive I can come without even being hard? How it feels to let Jimmy fuck your urethra with a piece of metal until the come bubbles up around it?"

Their foreheads are touching now. Sam's breath is warm against his face, lips almost touching. Dean is rock-hard in his jeans, the angle almost painful but also _so good_ , and their cocks – oh god, Sam's hard too, and their cocks are rubbing against each other–

Dean makes a small, choked sound, tilting his head back, and Sam takes the opportunity to kiss Dean's exposed Adam's apple. He keeps his lips pressed there, against Dean's throat. "I could tell you all about that, Dean… but–" _kiss–_ "I'd rather show you. Rather–" _kiss–_ "get Cas to lock you up for me–" _kiss–_ "and watch your face–" _kiss–_ "as they fuck you and all you can do is just take it, just let them fuck you until they make you come, it's like nothing you've ever felt, Dean, so _good_."

He's thrusting against Dean now, and Dean wants to cry, overwhelmed with how afraid he'd refused to admit he was that he'd lost this, that John had won, had taken one last thing away from them. Dean places his hands softly on Sam's hips, experimentally rolls them toward him.

Sam moans breathily.

"Would you do that for me, Dean?" Their hips are moving in tandem now, faster and more urgently. Dean's face is pressed into Sam's shoulder, arms clenching them tightly together as they writhe unabashedly. "Would you let me, us, own you like that? For a day, two days, a week?"

His breath is hot and moist on Dean's neck as he whispers, "A month? A lifetime?"

Dean's so close now, and so is Sam. He can feel it in the way his brother undulates against him, the soft sharp intakes of breath, the way he has to strain to keep his voice even.

"What do you want me to say, Sammy?" Dean already knows whatever the answer is, he'll say it.

Sam plasters himself against Dean, letting his head roll back as he thrusts up. "Say _yes_."

_"Yes_ ," Dean whispers brokenly, and comes, and comes, and comes. Sam's orgasm is only a half-step behind, his lips crashing desperately into Dean's as his cock pulses wetly. And then they cling to each other, panting until the wave has passed, holding on like they are the only thing keeping each other afloat.

~*~

Despite the sticky mess in his jeans, the edge of the headboard that he just now is realizing has been digging into his back for the past three minutes, and the fact that his legs are slowly going numb from Sam's weight on them, Dean is giving seriously consideration to never letting Sam out of his hug. And given the way Sam slumps forward, a small smile on his lips as he all but purrs in satisfaction, he suspects Sam might be feeling the same way.

Which is fine by him. Who needs legs, anyway, when they have a lapful of Sam? It's possible he's a little punch-drunk with love.

He loses himself in kissing Sam for a while, then leans back to look at him. Sam chases his lips forward, almost swallowing the words with his kisses.

"So, Sammy, if I'm gonna let you do whatever kinky thing you clearly have planned for me sometime, you gotta do me a favor, too, okay?"

Sam cocks his head. "Yeah?"

"Let's put a little mileage on that credit card Cas gave me, and make this room look like someplace you're actually living in, 'cause I gotta tell ya – your current decorating scheme?" He cranes his head around at the empty room and smirks. "It kinda sucks."

Sam snorts. " _That's_ your request? _Shopping_?"

Dean's smirk spreads into a big impish grin. "Seems like a fair trade. But uh…" his eyes flick down and then back up– "maybe after we get changed first."

Sam sits back on his haunches to glance at Dean's jeans and the dark patch smeared across the front. And then at his own shorts, so jizz-stained they're nearly translucent.

And then he _giggles_.

It's the best sound Dean's ever heard.


End file.
